but no one cared. We decked the halls away
in the manger 'cause here came Santa Claus rockin'
around the Christmas tree when I'm dreaming
of a white Christmas. Bring me some figgy pudding,
Frosty, Rudolph, Jesus on this silent night, children
ho-ho-hoing on the hayride, taking gifts to neighbors
who had decorated nicely but were mostly either
gone or hesitant to answer doorbells when such
little strangers rang. No room, the silence said.
No time for listening to our pitchiness
when something good was playing on
the big screen plasma Santa brought a few days early.
Production of a family that runs on memories and
making more, so new ones coming up don't have
to just hear stories of the way it used to be,
but blend traditions with the people they've invited
to take part, each voice adding something
different to the mix. We saw a shooting star,
and each one breathed a wish kept secret
on this holy night. When someone muttered "Jesus Christ!"
the time a little boy jumped from the moving trailer,
fear behind the words, someone else piped in with
"will be born" and those who heard it laughed. But
he will be, born afresh in hearts on Christmas, in
hearts that have a little room.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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